He sprang, sprang upright as of old.
"Tis gold! 'tis gold! my hidden vein!
'Tis gold for you, sweet babe, 'tis gold!

Yea, God is good; we plant again!"
So one old miner still sits down

By pleasant, sunlit Shasta town.

cha' 'par ral', a low, evergreen oak. Joa quin' (wä kẽn').

man' za ni' ta, an evergreen shrub of California.

EXTRACT FROM "LALLA ROOKH.”

THOMAS MOORE,

All is in motion: rings and plumes and pearls Are shining everywhere! Some younger girls Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads; The maid of India, blest again to hold In her full lap the champak's leaves of gold, Thinks of the time when,, by the Ganges' flood, Her little playmates scattered many a bud Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam Just dripping from the consecrated stream; While the young Arab, haunted by the smell Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell, Sees called up round her by these magic scents The well, the camels, and her father's tents.

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound From many a jasper fount, is heard around,

Young Azim roams bewildered

nor can guess

What means this maze of light and loneliness.
Here the way leads o'er tessellated floors,
Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors,
Where, ranged in cassolettes and silver urns,
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns,
And spicy rods, such as illume at night
The bowers of Tibet, send forth odorous light
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road
For some pure spirit to its blest abode.
And here, at once, the glittering saloon

Bursts on his sight, boundless and as bright as noon
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays
High as the enameled cupola, which towers
All rich with arabesques of gold and flowers :
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through
The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew,
Like the wet, glistening shells of every dye
That on the margin of the Red Sea lie.

Here, too, he traces the kind visitings Of woman's love in those fair, living things Of land and wave, whose fate-in bondage thrown For their weak loveliness-is like her own! On one side, gleaming with a sudden grace Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase In which it undulates, small fishes shine Like golden ingots from a fairy mine; While, on the other, latticed lightly in With odoriferous woods of Comorin, Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen; Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between

The crimson blossoms of the coral tree
In the warm isles of India's sea;
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon and the thrush
Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush,
At evening, from the tall pagoda's top—
Those golden birds that, in the spice time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose scent hath lured them o'er the summer flood;
And those that under Araby's soft sun

Build their high nests of budding cinnamon
In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly
Through the pure element, here calmly lie
Sleeping in light, like the green birds that dwell
In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel!

So on, through scenes past all imagining, More like the luxuries of that impious king Whom Death's dark angel, with his lightning torch, Struck down and blasted even in pleasure's porch, Than the pure dwelling of a prophet sent,

Arm'd with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchisement,

Young Azim wandered, looking sternly round,
His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound
But ill according with the pomp and grace
And silent lull of that voluptuous place.

"Is this, then," thought the youth, "is this the way To free man's spirit from the deadening sway Of worldly sloth—to teach him while he lives To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, And when he dies, to leave his lofty name A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame?

It was not so, land of the generous thought
And daring deed, thy godlike sages taught;
It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease,
Thy Freedom nurs'd her sacred energies;
Oh! not beneath th' enfeebling, withering glow
Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow

With which she wreathed her sword when she would

dare

Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air
Of toil, of temperance, of that high, rare,
Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe
Life, health, and luster into Freedom's wreath !

"Who that surveys this span of earth we press-
This speck of life in Time's great wilderness,
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
The past, the future, two eternities—

Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare,
When he might build him a proud temple there,
A name that long shall hallow all its space
And be each purer soul's high resting-place!
But no-it can not be, that one whom God
Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod-
A prophet of the truth, whose mission draws
Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane its cause
With the world's vulgar pomps-no, no-I see-
He thinks me weak, this glare of luxury

Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze

Of my young soul. Shine on, 'twill stand the blaze!"

ar'a besque' (běsk), ornamentation in
which figures of plants, animals, etc.,
are fantastically woven together.
as' pho del, a species of plant; daffodil.
cas' so lette', a box or vase with a per-
forated cover to emit perfume.

mo sa' ic, made by inlaying with small
pieces of stone, shell, etc.

o dor if' er ous, having an odor.
sa loon', a spacious and elegant apart-
ment for the reception of company.
vo lup' tu ous, luxurious; sensual.

A DAY IN DÜSSELDORF.

HEINRICH HEINE.

It was on a clear, frosty morning that I found myself once more on the avenue of the Düsseldorf Court Garden. I loitered along, often pushing aside with wayward feet the leaves which covered the ground, and often gazing sadly at the trees on which now only a few golden-hued leaves were left. In boyhood days I had gazed with far different eyes on those same trees.

I had returned that day to my old father-town. I had visited the dear graves. Of all my living friends, I had found but an uncle and an aunt. Even when I met once-known forms in the street, they knew me no more, and the town itself gazed on me with strange glances. I was as if in a dream, and thought of the legend of the enchanted city, and hastened out of the gate, lest I should awake too soon.

Pretty girls were walking here and there, dressed as gaily as wandering tulips. And I had known these tulips when they were but little bulbs; for ah! they were the neighbors' children with whom I had once played. But the fair maidens whom I had once known as blooming roses were now faded roses, and in many a high brow whose pride had once thrilled my heart, Saturn had cut deep wrinkles with his scythe.

I was deeply moved by the humble bow of a man whom I had once known as wealthy and respectable, and who had since become a beggar. Everywhere in the world we see that men, when they once